


You Were Her Age

by Bournmouthdread



Category: RWBY
Genre: AU, F/M, Gen, Master/Servant, Remnant-but-not-Quite, Second Person, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-14 17:45:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10541421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bournmouthdread/pseuds/Bournmouthdread
Summary: You were her servant; she was your master. You, simply put, cannot be together.





	1. Hello, My Name Is...

_In Remnant, you two could be heroes._

_In Remnant, you two could be equals._

_In a world full of threats, and fraught with danger, you could be together._

_However, this is Remnant-but-not-quite._

_There are no threats, there are no dangers._

_You two, simply put, cannot be._

* * *

 

You were 12 years old when you were introduced to each other.

The Schnee family’s living room was massive, much bigger than the small cottage you lived in. It was only you, your father, and your younger sister. Mom lived with the Schnees as the head maid. And today, you shall join your mother as a servant in the Schnee household.

Servant-in-training, at least until he was 16. Can’t be breaking child labor laws, after all.

Your family served the Schnees for 10 generations. You're just the latest in that long line of maids, butlers, and yes, even servants.

Whoever told your ancestor that being a butler was God’s greatest occupation took the phrase “serve your fellow man” a bit too literally, and deserved to be punched in the face.

Nonetheless, you were expected to serve the Schnees, and the money they offered wasn’t half-bad, especially for an initial lump sum, plus the salary. Put in a trust fund until you were 16, sure, and the actual salary was more realistic, but money was still money.

And damn, you could move into your own house in Atlas when you finally got it. No one said you had to stay a servant _forever_.

Your mother was chosen to served Mrs. Schnee, later Mr. Schnee as well, you were chosen to serve the heir apparent. The thought filled you with dread: Whitley? Seriously? You knew what Whitley was like, as did all your broken toys when you were 5. You wonder if it was too late to run.

Your legs probably wouldn’t have gotten you far, anyway. Not to mention your uncomfortable hand-me-down uniform.

Maybe you’d get a proper uniform when you actually start working for the heir. It would be nice; at least you get new clothes.

Another one of the family’s servants entered the room. “Mr. Schnee will enter shortly, along with his daughter”

Your mother nods. You and her move towards the centre table. The other servant mentioned a daughter: could it be Winter? She was friendly growing up, always sharing her snacks when you occasionally came over. But your older sister was already at her beck and call, though. Besides, she was away in military school.

Surprise came over you when Mr Schnee entered the room, Weiss in tow.

The Schnee daughter you never really knew. You knew she was around, of course: she was there whenever you visited your mother. You think you’ve talked once or twice? This was the first time you’re actually have an actual meaningful conversation.

“Son,  you know Weiss,” your mother says. “Starting today, you’re going to learn how to be her servant.”

Well… at least it’s not Whitley. You extend a hand towards her, a theatrical smile on your face.

“Good morning, Miss Schnee, you say in the most formal voice you can muster, “I hope we can be the best of friends.”

She just stares at you, arms crossed over chest, a raised eyebrow.

“I’m not shaking your hand.”

This is gonna be a long 4 years.

* * *

 

You were 13 when you started to work for the Schnees in an unofficial capacity.

Your first year in the Schnee household was _devoted_ to study. Your mother habitually woke you up along with her. You shadowed your mother and the other servants, learning the basics of serving.

When you weren’t learning the ropes of being a good servant to Weiss, or reading the helpful Weiss cheat-sheet your mother gave you (the three sizes were a bit much though), you would usually attempt to converse with your future charge, with varying degrees of success.

It’s never a full conversation, though. Small talk, sure, but that’s about it. A shame, really. You’d love nothing more than to be one of those snarky butlers in those shows you watched on your scroll. Then again, based on your wit (or lack thereof), maybe you should be thankful that the opportunities are non-existent.

Still, since you were going to wait on her for… 4 more years, you kinda need to talk to her.

The other servants helped you out. Miss Painter taught you the best way to wash clothes, how to iron them, and how to fold them. Mr Sheffield, one of the cooks, taught you exactly how Weiss loved her scrambled eggs. Mr House, the janitor and handyman, taught you how to make basic house repairs, as well as, funnily enough, garment repair. Mr Egerton, the head butler, taught you how to speak, how to walk, and how to be a proper gentleman. “A servant follows the standard set by his master,” he said. “Only a gentleman can properly serve a lady.”

None of them knew how to properly talk to Weiss, though.

Well, when in doubt, mother knows best.

“Don’t be pushy,” she said. “Find something you both are interested in.”

Sure enough, that’s what you did. You kept silent, only spoke when spoken to. Real servant stuff. Meanwhile, you tried to find something, _anything,_ in common.

* * *

 

You made headway a few days later.

It was a routine day: knock on her door, and ask if she needed help. Entering the door, you see her in front of the dresser, busy doing her make-up. She points to a desk near the massive window, telling you to wait near there.

You’ve never really noticed the finer details of the room until now. Aside from the dresser next to her bed (a really big bed, mind), the large window on the wall directly across the door lit up the room. Shelves of books surrounded the window-wall, one of them having the desk you’ve been told to wait at right in front of it.

You look at the desk, covered with application papers and brochures. Most of them are about Atlesian academies: Atlas, Alsius, all big names. However, one brochure in particular catches your eye.

Beacon Academy.

Ever since you were a kid, you’ve heard about that academy. Most of its graduates went on to become leaders in their fields. You remembered Dr. Oobleck’s discovery of fossilized Grimm in the heart of the Menagerie Desert, the most intact specimens yet, and his subsequent cameo in “Ancient Remnant Park”. You read Peter Port’s series of Johnny Arbiter action novels, especially since they were based on his real experiences during the war.

The fact that Beacon also offered lower rates than Atlesian schools never crossed your mind, oh no.

Ever since you were a kid, you _knew_ you had to attend that school, and you _knew_ that your trust fund could pay for the tuition. Let your family worry about how you were going to pay for stuff like school supplies, or a place to sleep in, or food, this school was your gateway to the world.

You were caught up reading the brochure when an _ahem_ brought you back to Remnant. Weiss was done with her make up, and now she’s just waiting for you to put down the brochure you’ve been so absorbed in.

“Planning to go to Beacon?” you ask.

Weiss turns to you, a neutral expression on her face. “I plan to, yes. Why?”

You mention how it was an ambition of yours to attend the academy, how you wanted to explore Remnant and see for yourself what it was like: the cityscapes of Vale, the heat of Menagerie, the forests of Haven…

You see a small smile form on her lips. “Well,” she says, standing up and taking the brochure from you. “Let’s hope you get in too, shall we?”

You followed up with what Vale was like. She asked about the lives of the graduates of Beacon. You talked about Ancient Remnant Park and the Johnny Arbiter books. She talked about her favorite restaurants and popular hotspots.

Before you two knew it, it’s been a few hours. If you weren’t friends before, you sure were now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also posted on FF.net.
> 
> Also, does anyone even read these notes?


	2. A Familial Problem

You were turning 14 in a week when you started to get used to waking up at 3 AM.

Your first year actually attending to Weiss wasn’t bad, per se.  She would request her breakfast at precisely 7 AM: not too early, not too late. You would never forget the earful of a lesson you got from her when you delivered it at half past six.

Or the sight of her dressing up, but you wouldn’t mention that to anyone. At least you know why the “early” part was necessary.

Still, did she really have to call you a dolt?

Afternoons were more varied. Usually she would stay indoors, either in her room, writing letters to Winter, or in the study, brushing up on the history of Remnant, Atlas, and the Schnee Company. She preferred historical books, and historical fiction. She loved tales of chivalry and single acts of heroism.

If she wasn’t at home, you and Weiss would go out to the shops, looking at and buying clothes, browsing for more books and office supplies, or have lunch at some of the many restaurants. You two would usually talk about the day’s events and upcoming plans, and how much she wanted to leave the shadow of Atlas and study in Beacon.

Those were nice. You’d talk for _hours_ on Vale. There’s even some talk of synchronizing schedules.

The best afternoons though were spent with her fencing; you’d watch her use her epee, affectionately nicknamed Myrtenaster, like a violin, going through her training dummies and sparring opponents without mercy. You’d listen to her trainers tell her what she did right, and what she did wrong. After a few pointers and demonstrations, she’d fight once more.

She looked beautiful, destroying the hell out of her enemies. A rare sentence, you thought. Nevertheless, you watched over her, slowly picking up a few pointers along the way.

If you were going to be a servant, might as well be a bodyguard too. Not like Weiss would need protecting, but it’s the thought that counts.

Evenings were spent at dinner at 6 PM, with you standing behind her as she ate with her family. They would discuss the day’s events, and there was almost a routine to it. Either Mr. or Mrs. Schnee would ask Weiss first: Weiss would mention the monthly letter from Winter, otherwise it would be about her studies and her training. Whitley would discuss (complain, really) how his schoolmates didn’t show him proper courtesy, as well as how he thinks the school ought to be run.

Now, you were home-schooled all your life, but you think that chocolate-chip cookies for every lunch, while enjoyable, wouldn’t be conducive to a healthy lifestyle.

After dinner, at around 7 or 8, Weiss would head upstairs to her room, you following suit. You would ask her if she required anything else. If she did, you would fetch the item she required, usually a new change of clothes, or a light snack. Sometimes you also talked to her about the day, or about upcoming plans. Usually though, you’d be dismissed.

Your quarters weren’t that bad. In fact, you could say that it was a step up from the room you used to share with your sisters. Your own closet, a desk with a mirror, and your own bed.

You would usually sit behind the desk, writing your thoughts in a journal. You would write about how much you miss your family, how your day went, and how Weiss Schnee’s treatment of you was cordial and friendly. Occasionally you’d write letters to your family, or read what mail you received from them. Sometimes your sister would send you the cookies she baked.

She tries. She really does.

You’d also mention how much the Schnees were cold, to say the least. Mr Schnee and Mrs Schnee did not have chemistry, as far as you knew from seeing them in the same room. I guess those were the results of an arranged marriage; not all of them have happy endings.

Still, you could stand it. Outwardly, Mr and Mrs Schnee, along with Winter, Weiss, and Whitley, were the model of the perfect, close-knit family.

And as far as your pay grade goes, it was all you had to know.

* * *

 

It would be 5 weeks and 2 days into your official servitude that you learned how close-knit the family really was.

It was a simple dinner, really. A selection of meats, a salad; rich people food. You stood behind Weiss, an apron wrapped around your waist, and a jug of water nearby when she wanted a refill.

Mrs. Schnee commented on Weiss’s studies. Weiss mentioned that she wanted to study in Vale. Mr. Schnee would comment that Weiss ought to study right here in Atlas. Mrs. Schnee would argue for Weiss, and Mr. Schnee would argue against Mrs. Schnee. Mrs. Schnee would mention how he took _her_ last name and where he came from, and Mr. Schnee would mention Mrs. Schnee’s predilection for wine.

You learned why Weiss wanted to study in Vale that night. And honestly, you wouldn’t blame her.

As they fought, you placed a hand on her shoulder. She’d look at you with her eyes, close to tears, but not quite.

You responded with the most compassionate look that you can muster on your face.

_Don’t worry, I’m here,_ you tried to wordlessly say with your smile.

She whispered a “Thank you” as you offered her another glad of water.

* * *

 

Later that night you asked the same question you've asked every night.

“Is there anything else you’d like, Miss Schnee?”

“Not tonight. I’d like you to leave for now.”

At least sound more convincing. You ask again.

“Weiss… are you alright?”

She just sighs.

“…no.”

You hear about her familial problems; how her mother’s a drunk and how her father’s emotionally neglectful. How thin the cover is on their so-called marriage. You let her talk. You let her air out her bottled-up feelings.

You’ll never truly understand her parents, but you understand her, and right now, you understand that she needs a friend.


	3. Sweet Child of Mine

You were a day short of 15 when you started to notice the little things.

You would notice the small specks on Weiss’ dresses when you picked them up from the hamper.  You’d point them out to Miss Painter, and she’d do her magic.

You would notice that Mr Schnee would always discuss business at around 4 PM. He and some man named Ironwood would enter his office to discuss… you dunno, Company stuff? It was all way above your pay grade though. You shouldn’t even bother.

You would notice that Mrs Schnee would usually drink at around the same time Mr Schnee would do business. She’d usually ask you to bring her a merlot from the pantry, if the head butler didn’t do it himself. Every time, one whole bottle and a wine glass. Later that night, you’d expect the bottle to be a quarter full.

You would notice that Whitley is starting to keep his megalomaniacal tendencies in check. He’s even starting to befriend Mr Ironwood’s daughter, Penny.

Why they always hang out in his room isn’t something you should probably think about. That way laid madness.

You would notice that Weiss tilts her head slightly to the side when she’s confused about a term in one of her books. She would frown, and scrunch up her nose, then she would go to the nearest dictionary to learn about it.

You would notice how Weiss always bites her lip when she’s being indecisive, especially if it’s about what dress she should wear for a formal event. You’d always suggest light, cool shades, mostly blues. You think they suited her well. She agrees with you, usually.

You would notice the time that passed after the many conversations you have with Weiss. All the small talk that you did amounted to hours of discussing the weather, either of your families, and other topics like current events, places to be, stuff like that. Sometimes you even play chess. She’d always win, of course, but there have been a few close calls.

You would notice that she’s more livelier talking to you than the rest of the staff. Even your mother knows, and she tells you to keep doing whatever she thinks you’re doing.

You would notice that your gaze usually hovers on your charge when she’s not looking, and when you do, you would notice every detail about her.

How her light-blue eyes shine in the light like clear pools.

How her white hair sways in the wind.

How her outfits show off her lithe, graceful body.

How she’s developing cute little brea—

Wait.

You should stop that line of thought before things get out of hand.

You’re a servant. She’s your mistress. Besides, she’s on a whole other league than you, it’s impossible.

Later that night, you notice yourself adding something extra to that line of thought.

_At least, for now._

* * *

 

You turned 16 a week ago when Weiss got acceptance letter from Beacon Academy.

She was thrilled. The last time she was this happy was when she won the Junior Fencing Championship last year. They all ate at a fancy restaurant that day, and Weiss _insisted_ that you join them. Mrs Schnee even ordered a club soda instead of wine.

She couldn’t wait to go, she said. You accompanied her in getting some school supplies that day.

Her face when Mr Schnee told Weiss that he would have none of it nearly broke your heart.

Her mother had no say in it, though if she could, she would pay for the tuition in a hearbeat.

As her servant, you were expected to come to her aid: a cup of tea, a comforting hug, or a quick pep talk. But your goal as a servant of a Schnee was to convince your charge that she was wrong, and she should stay in Atlas. Your loyalty was to the family first, then Weiss second.

As her friend and confidante, you knew you could do more than that.

The trust fund. You never spent more than you needed, so you know what you had was enough. It wasn’t enough to cover the trip to Vale, but it was close enough to cover the tuition.

You had to make a choice. Once more, you ask your mother for advice.

It was approximately seven days, three hours, and one minute later when you called your mother into your room. You explained the situation: about your mistress’ acceptance into the Academy. About her father’s disapproval. About how broken she felt the past week.

“Well… son, this is a pretty big thing you’re doing for her.”

You agree.

“That trust fund was put in place as a failsafe, so you can leave at any time. You don’t _have_ to serve her anymore at this point.”

You don’t care.

“Son, I won’t tell you what to do. But if you _do_ give her the money, you have to understand that it’ll take a long while for you to work that back. A very long while.”

She leaves the room, leaving you to make a decision.

 _She’s your friend!_ a part of you says. _She’s been your friend since you started working for the family, and besides, isn’t it your job anyways to make sure she’s happy and comfortable and content?_

That part was right.

 _She’s your boss,_ another part of you argues back. _She’s not going to swoon like some lovestruck Beowolf. You’re a servant. She’s your mistress. Deal with it._

That part was also right.

You go to bed, your choices still spinning in your mind. Tomorrow, you’ll try to convince Mr Schnee.


	4. Name Your Price

It would be the next evening when you knock on Mr Schnee’s office.

“Oh… you. Come in.”

You enter the room. The room itself is cozy, to put it bluntly. In front of you are two sofas and a coffee table, on which there were various magazines, presumably for visitors. To your left and right were rows and rows of books, detailing treatises and political information. In the back, Mr Schnee was sitting on a large chair behind a desk, with a picture of him as a younger man decorating the wall.

The few times you came to the room, the desk was filled with important-looking papers, no doubt detailing the next Schnee Company take over.   

Currently, though, there were two glasses on the desk, along with a bottle of whiskey.

“So… “ he says, pouring himself a glass. “Why have you come?”

“I want you to reconsider your decision.”

“About what, I might ask?”

“Your daughter’s education. Sir.”

Mr Schnee looks at you, a raised eyebrow on his face.

“Let her study in Beacon.”

Mr Schnee takes a swig of the whiskey. He takes in a breath, while you hold in yours.

“Please, take a seat.”

You let out that breath. You take a seat on one of the two sofas, Mr Schnee taking the seat opposite you.

“Hmm… you’ve been taking an interest in my daughter recently.”

“Mr Schnee —”

“Please, call me Jacques.”

“... Jacques, I’m her servant,” you say rather quickly. “I’m supposed to take an interest in her”

“And for that my boy, I am grateful,” he says, taking another gulp of the whiskey. “The Schnees reward those who help them, as your family can attest to.”

Yep. You can attest to that.

“However,” he continues, “I must also think of my family. Poor Weiss is the heiress to the Schnee Company after all.”

You nod.

“Therefore, she must have the best education money can buy. Atlas Academy has Remnant’s best business programs, surely more than what Beacon offers, of all academies. Why, I’d sooner send my daughter to bloody _Menagerie._ ”

You said nothing, a neutral expression on your face, though your fists tighten.

“Besides,” he says, “we both know why you want her at Beacon.”

“Sir?”

“Do not try to hide it!” he shouts, slamming the glass on the wooden table, making you jump. “I know for a fact that you’ve wanted to go to Beacon since you were a child. You and my daughter’s conversations are not exactly subtle.”

Your blood runs cold.

”I’ve seen the way you look at Weiss. How the two of you speak as if you two were more than just servant and master, as if you were her… _equal_.”

He emphasizes that last word. He makes sure you hear his disgust.

He points an accusatory finger at you. “If you think that your little fairy tale will come true, I will personally see an end to that, starting with your termination of employment.”

“

You stand up from your seat.

“No!”

“... No?”

“I…” you stammer out. “I want her to be happy. I want _Weiss_ to be happy.”

“And you shall, my boy. Just be her personal little _lap dog_ ,” he says with confidence, and let her study in Atlas. Now,” he points to the door. “I believe our business to be… concluded.”

This BASTARD.

“I’ll pay for it!” you yell out loud.

Jacques raises an eyebrow. “You’ll pay for… what, exactly?”

“I’ll pay for her Beacon tuition.”

Jacques smirked. “And you’ll pay for her tuition with what kind of money?”

“My trust fund. Use a quarter, a half, all of it, I don’t care.”

“And you think this grand gesture will win her heart?”

Yes. Yes it will.

“No. I just want her to be happy, and Beacon Academy will make her happy.”

The bastard laughs.

“Do you honestly think that?”

No, but it can’t hurt to try.

“Yes, I do.”

Jacques takes the glass from the table, drinking from it.

“You’re willing to sacrifice your _own_ future, your own goals… for puppy love.”

“For my friend and mistress. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Hmph. Well, I have seen even worse fools than you back in my day.”

Jacques walks back to the bottle on his desk, pouring another glass and giving it to you.

“Here’s our deal: we never had this conversation.”

You nod.

“I changed my mind after some deliberation on my part. You just… stood there in your room, or whatever it is you do when you’re not trying to court my daughter.”

You snort at that last part, but you nod.

“And you owe me… a favor.”

You hesitate.

“A favor?”

“You have to understand, boy,” he explains. “You wanted my daughter in Beacon, yes? Well, I’m giving you what you want.”

You stay silent.

“I scratch your back, you scratch mine.” He offers you a glass of whiskey. “This is basic business, boy. Do we have an agreement?”

You take the glass.

“Yes we do, Jacques. Yes we do.”

You clink the glasses.

* * *

 

It was during her fencing practice the next day that you’ve seen Weiss better than the past few days.

When she took off the fencing mask, you saw the best smile she’s ever had so far.

“Someone’s happy today.”

“YES—“, she says with a grin, nearly shouting it out before regaining her composure, “Ahem, I mean, yes.”

“What happened?”

“Father changed his mind this morning,” Weiss explained. “Looks like I’m going to Beacon after all.”

You grin. “He did, huh.”

Weiss giggled. “He said he thought how he just wanted to see me happy, and Beacon would make me happy.”

That plagiarizing bastard.

“So,” she continues. “How about you?”

Your grin falters. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” she says while she removes her gloves. “Have you entered your application yet?”

“Oh… um… I didn’t.”

“You WHAT?”

“I’m sorry,” you say, quickly bowing. “It’s just that my family needed the money more.”

You look up, looking at her face. You can’t place her expression: confusion? Surprise? Disappointment?

“I thought you wanted to go to Beacon—”

“I’ll still go,” you quickly interrupt her. “As your servant.”

The expression on her face turns into a frown. The silence between you was palpable.

“…You’re lying.”

“What?”

“You’re lying. You told me you just didn’t _want_ to be a servant. What changed?”

“Nothing changed!” you nearly shout. “It’s just… I have different problems now.”

“Like what?” she asks. “Maybe my family can help yours, it always has.”

“It can’t, Weiss,” you say. “It just can’t. It’s a choice I made, and it’s a choice I’m willing to suffer through. Besides, Weiss…”

You grab her hands, one in each of yours. You stare into her blue eyes, a serious expression in your face.

“I’m just your servant. Nothing more, nothing less.”

She looks back at you incredulously. Her looks slowly hardens: if she was mad, she didn’t show it.

“… Yes. Yes you are.”

She picks up her mask and gloves and makes a motion to leave.

You start to follow her.

“You are dismissed, sir,” she says somewhat forcefully, raising her hand to stop you. “Have the rest of the day off.”

You watch her leave, and you let out that breath you didn’t know you were holding.

You screwed up.

* * *

 

The days passed, and her behavior hasn’t changed since you told her the news.

It was the first week since when you noticed that she was colder. When she needed something, you’d only hear a curt _thank you_ after you did your task. She dismisses you almost immediately; before you’d make small talk for hours.

It was the second week since when she started being more abrasive. Your jokes weren’t met with laughter or even a smile, rather they’re met with admonishment and a lecture on your place.

It was a full month since when you finally accepted that whatever you had, it was gone.


	5. Winds and Winter

Weiss was 17 when she packed her bags for the plane to Vale. Clothes, fencing gear, school supplies, you name it. If she could fit in in her two luggage bags, it’s coming with her.

You packed too of course, your uniforms and casual clothes all packed into a single luggage bag and a backpack. All of it already packed and loaded in the truck.

“Hurry up you dolt! We’re going to be late!”

“I’m already at the car, ma’am.”

“Took you long enough.”

“Your stuff’s in the car, Miss Schnee,” you say, disregarding her last comment. You attempt to hand her airship ticket over.

“At the port.”

“Yes, Miss Schnee.” You open the car door for her, following her inside. Her family should be waiting at the port. The car starts to move, and you look back at the house you’ve practically made into your second home.

Good riddance.

* * *

 

A year. You suffered her prissy attitude for a year. Five, if you counted from the beginning. God bleepin’ dammit. She wasn’t always like this. You remember how she used to be so nice and sweet, even took time out of her busy schedule to just hang out.

Now she’s just… well, let’s not mince words, she’s become a massive bitch. Whatever good she had in her disappeared like a shadow in total darkness.

Well, whatever. You’re her servant. She’s your master. You said so yourself.

The car reached the port just before an hour you’re scheduled to depart. It was your first time in one, your job and economic standing not really allowing you to go to one. The port was filled with people from around Remnant: Vale tourists shopping in the gift shop, some Faunus from Menagerie saying their goodbyes to friends before leaving, a few Mistrali business executives, and some native Atlesians,

As Weiss was heading towards the gate, you were left with lifting both of your carry-ons. The Schnee family was already there: Mr and Mrs Schnee, Whitley…

Winter?

“Sister!” Weiss excitedly yelped out, running towards Winter, hugging her. “When did you arrive?”

“Earlier this morning,” Winter said. “I found some free time in my schedule, and I wanted to surprise you before you left.”

“You should have told me,” Weiss said. “It has been too long.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt your packing.” Winter replied. “Besides, based on our correspondence, you seem distracted by something,” she continued, turning to face you. “Or someone, at least.”

“No,” you say.

“No?” she asks.

“Just… no, Miss Schnee.”

“Anyway,” Weiss says, “Would you like some tea before we depart, Winter?”

“I would love to,” Winter replies. The two of them leave for a port café, leaving you with the rest of the family.

“So…” you start to speak. “What do you guys wanna do?”

“Learn your place, boy,” Jacques replied.

“Of course,” you say with a hint of resignation. “I’ll just buy something from the vending machines.”

* * *

 

It was an hour later when you finally boarded the airship, and it was an hour after take-off when you could finally stretch your legs. It was larger than you expected: it was a double decker, the standard. The first deck had the seats and the cockpit, while the lower deck was an observational one, with glass windows with tables that allowed one to look outside and below to see the sights, as well as some snacks and other amenities.

With the carry-ons safely in the first deck, you followed your mistress into the lower deck. The area only had a few people; the flight attendant peddling her overpriced food on a cart, a family taking pictures…

_HONK! CRASH! BEEP!_

…said family’s kids playing with some sort of noisy toy.

 but you’re looking for one person in particular.

“Miss Schnee?” you say out loud.

“Ah! There you are,” a reply comes out near the farthest window from you. Sure enough, there she was, in a table while talking to a redheaded girl who looked about you Weiss’ age. You quickly head over.

“How may be I of service, ma’am?”

“Ah, yes. I’d like you to meet Pyrrha Nikos. She’ll be attending Beacon Academy as well.”

“Miss Nikos,” you nod towards her. She was rather beautiful, in a way, with her green eyes and her winning smile. “Thank you for keeping her company.”

“It was no problem,” she says. “I don’t suppose I can get your name, sir?”

“My name’s–,” you begin to say.

“Not important!” Weiss rudely interrupts. “He is my personal attendant, and while he shall accompany me to Beacon, he will not take classes there.”

When did you become an attendant? The contract said servant.

“… what she said,” you say. You face Miss Nikos. “You came from Mistral, you say? It’s a bit of a ways from Atlas.”

“Oh, I have family in Atlas,” she explains. “I actually stayed in Mantle for a few days.”

“That’s neat,” you reply.

_Ahem._

A noise interrupts your conversation.

“If you would be so kind, would you fetch us some food, perhaps? I’m _dying_ for that slice of black forest.”

“Right away, ma’am. Miss Nikos?”

“Just Pyrrha would be fine, thank you.”

“Okay then, Just Pyrrha, what would you like?”

She giggled at that lame joke. “Some peanuts would be fine, thank you.”

You nod.

* * *

 

Returning with the food, you immediately serve both, and take your place standing behind Weiss.

“Thank you,” Weiss said without looking at you. “So yes, my life was mostly fencing and studies. Being a Schnee does not leave much room for error.”

“That sounds rough,” Pyrrha replied.

“Oh really, it is nothing,” Weiss says. “Honestly, I’m grateful. My father saw fit to send me to Beacon, all to further my studies.”

“He must be a good father, then?”

Oh he’s good alright. Real Father of the Year material.

“Well… not exactly,” Weiss says. “We have had our disagreements, but in the end, I believe it all worked out in the end.”

You scoff. “Sure it did.”

“… Excuse me?”

Oh crap, you said that out loud. You put on your best poker face as Weiss turns to face you.

“Yes, Miss Schnee?”

“Do you have anything to add?”

“No, Miss Schnee.”

“Good,” she turned back to Pyrrha. “Servants, am I right?”

Pyrrha awkwardly smiles back. “Y–yes.”

“You are dismissed,” Weiss says. “Please leave us for the time being.”

“I’ll be in the upper deck if you need me, Miss Schnee.” You bow to her, then to Pyrrha. “Pyrrha.”

“I hope we meet again at Beacon, Mister…”

“The name’s–“

_CRASH! HONK! BEEP!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Pyrrha has family in Mistral in the world of Remnant-But-Not-Quite.
> 
> Who?
> 
> Who cares, we're not meeting them anyway.


	6. Nightshade

It was exactly 36 hours later when the airship finally landed in Vale and waved goodbye to Pyrrha, and a few hours after the fact when you found the hotel room you’d be staying for a few days

Based on Weiss’ schedule, it would be a few days before she would start classes at Beacon. In the meantime, you and Weiss went around the shopping districts. Currently, you were in a clothing store, standing outside the dressing room with a basket of clothes on either side of you, while Weiss is on the other side of the curtain, trying out said clothes.

“What do you think about this?” says Weiss, opening the curtain and showing you the outfit. It was a simple one; a white sundress with sleeves.

“It looks wonderful, Miss Schnee.”

“Of course it does,” she says humbly. “Put it in the pile and we’ll check out once we’re done.”

“Yes, Miss Schnee.”

You wait for a few minutes while she dresses up. Eventually she comes out wearing jeans and a light blue T-shirt. She motions to the basket to your right. “Take those with us,” she orders. “And carry the bags, will you.”

“… These are like, five bags’ worth of clothing.”

“I can assure you that the amount is closer to eight bags.”

Damn you, Weiss.

“Of course, Miss Schnee.”

* * *

After paying for the clothes, you and Weiss continue down Vale’s shopping district. The area was filled with what one might expect from a shopping district; people going about their ways, street vendors hawking their wares, rows of small shops that sold you things candies, clothes, and everything in between.

The two of you went about the district, with Weiss ahead of you carrying her handbag and parasol, while you were carrying no less than _ten_ bags worth of clothes. Seriously, what is she gonna do with all this sh-

“Hey! Watch it!”

Your train of thought was interrupted by Weiss and a boy accidentally bumping into each other.

“Miss Schnee!” you shout as you run towards her. You try to pick her up despite the bags you are carrying.

“Are you alright, Miss?”

“Y–yes, thank you.”

As she dusts herself off, you take a good look at the boy. The boy had blond, somewhat shaggy hair, and was of average build. He was wearing a hoodie with the Pumpkin Pete’s Marshmallow Flakes logo on it, probably the one from that “send 10 box tops to get a prize” promo a few months back.

Not that you entered it, mind.

Meanwhile, the boy was still on the ground, trying to pick up Weiss’s bag and parasol. “Sorry! I am _completely_ sorry, here, lemme help you–“

The boy’s train of thought stopped dead in its tracks when he got a good look at Weiss’ face.

“Uh…”

“…”

The two of them just stared at each other; the boy with an awestruck look on his face, and Weiss having a look of confusion on hers.

“Thank you, sir,” you say, interrupting the impromptu staring contest. “I’ll have those back?”

“Huh?” the boy asks, before eventually snapping out of it. “Oh! Yeah, the uh, things.”

“Yes,” you say. “The things.”

“Here,” he says, handing over the bag and parasol, one in each of your filled hands. He then turns to Weiss. “So, um… sorry.”

“… Okay?” Weiss says. “I suggest that you look where you’re going, sir.”

“Yeah!” the boy says. “That’s me, Mr-Looking-Where-I’m-Going!”

“Quite,” she replies. “Well, we must be going.” She turns to you. “Back to the hotel, perhaps?”

“Yes, Miss Schnee,” you say. “Shall I call a cab?”

“Immediately.”

She doesn’t have to tell you twice. You immediately try to hail a cab while the two carry on talking.

“Say, uh,” the boy asks. “You’re new here, right?”

“Not exactly,” she replies. “Though I _have_ been to Vale before, I will be staying here for an extend period of time.”

“Oh? How come?”

“Well, I shall be attending Beacon Academy,” she explains. “Being in the area is obviously a requirement.”

“Ah, so you’re going to Beacon as well, huh,” the boy says.

“Indeed,” she answers back. Eventually, you hail a cab, and after putting the bags in the trunk, you immediately open the door for your mistress.

“Miss Schnee? The cab.”

“ _Finally_ ,” she mutters under her breath. “Well, it _has_ been a pleasure. I hope we see each other in the academy.”

“Yeah!” he says, rather too enthusiastically, you feel. Weiss must’ve felt it too, since she immediately scurried to the cab. “My name’s Arc, by the way,” he quickly says. “Jaune Arc.”

“Weiss Schnee,” she says back as she moves immediately to the farthest side of the cab. “Goodbye, Mr Arc.”

“Sir,” you nod, as you yourself go in the cab yourself. You close the door, and the cab starts to move. You look back, and the Arc fellow is still standing there, as if in a stupor.

“Oh dear, he’s in love,” you say. You turn to Weiss with a smug grin. “You think he has a chance?”

“Tall, blonde, and scraggly? Please,” she replies with no small amount of distaste. “I do not fall in love with anyone below my standing.”

 _“I’d believe it if you didn’t already do that once,”_ you mutter to yourself. “I dunno, Weiss, he seems nice. I like him,” is what you say out loud.

“Maybe you should date him instead.”

“Maybe I will,” you say smugly. “Maybe you’ll get jealous of our cute dates and you’ll catch us making out in the dorms or something.”

“Ugh, just… stop.” Weiss says, exasperated. “Just stay quiet until we get back to the hotel.”

“Yes, Miss Schnee.”

* * *

 The cab eventually reached the hotel in the early evening. The Lancaster Hotel: fifteen floors of luxury, and only twelve of those are rooms themselves. After opening the door for Weiss, taking out the bags for the bellhop to bring up, and picking up whatever mail you had from the concierge, you join her in the elevator to the 7th floor.

Reaching the floor, you unlock the doors to room 718, letting Weiss inside first. The “room”, if you could call it that, had two floors. The first one contained the entry way, leading directly to a living room, a table with an ashtray plus a selection of magazines and sofa, along with a TV. To your immediate right was a kitchenette, and a door that led to the bathroom.

To your left was a closet, followed by stairs that led to a small landing with two doors, each leading to two separate bedrooms. The left room was yours, and the right one was Weiss’. Unsurprisingly, the right bedroom was the master bedroom with more floor space and a queen sized bed, while your room had a single bed, a closet, and a small window. Not much different from your room back in the Schnee household, actually.

“Alright,” you say to Weiss as you sit on the sofa in the middle of the room. The letter containing her schedule arrived, as well as a few documents pertaining to her stay. You open the letter, reading out its contents. “Looks like you’ve got a 4 day week this year, congratulations.”

“That is good to hear,” Weiss says as she opens the bathroom door to wash her face. “And my subjects?”

“I’ll leave the letter on the table,” you reply, placing the schedule on said table, using the ashtray on it as a paperweight. “In the meantime, I think it’s time for dinner.”

“That would be nice,” Weiss says. She closes the door and heads up. “Do you think we should order out?”

“That would be quite alright, Miss Schnee. Anything you would like to order?”

“I believe there is a Mistrali-Vacuan restaurant nearby, maybe we should get that.”

You nod. “Tempura and ramen, I assume.”

Weiss smiles. “You know what I like.”

“Of course, Miss Schnee.”

She was always agreeable when food was involved.

* * *

 

After finding a menu for the restaurant on your scroll, and telling Weiss the total of the food, you call them on your scroll. Weiss meanwhile picked up one of the magazines on the table and started skimming though the pages.

 _“Good evening sir, this is Wukong’s Wok, where 72 dishes are simply not enough,”_ the woman on the other line said. _“My name is Blake, can we have your address please?”_

“The… Lancaster Hotel, room 718.”

_“Wait a moment please… and there we go. We may now take your order, sir?”_

“Uh yeah, the six-piece tempura, two bowls of ramen, oh, and the four-piece shrimp dumplings.”

“ _Thank you sir, that would amount to… 35 Lien.”_

“Change for a 50?”

_“Yes sir. Please allow for 20 to 30 minutes or your order’s free.”_

“Thank you,” you finally say, and close the call. In the meantime you go upstairs to your room to grab your clothes. Nothing like a quick shower after a long day, after all. “I’m gonna take a shower, if you don’t mind, Miss Schnee.”

“Go ahead,” she says, continuing to read her magazine. You then go upstairs, removing your uniform in your room, as well as getting your clothes.

You head back downstairs to an empty living room in nothing but your undershirt and boxers.

“Um, Miss Schnee?” you call out.

No response.

“Miss Schnee?” you call out again. No response again. Feeling uncomfortable, you just head to the bathroom. Grabbing the handle, you try to turn the knob.

“In the shower!”

Oh there she is.

“I can wait, don’t worry Miss Schnee,” you call back. In the meantime, you sit down on the sofa, turning on the TV.

* * *

 

**“ _Is that it?”_**

**_“No, it’s_ another _spaceship that fell out the sky, dumbass.”_**

* * *

 

You turn off the TV, taking what you’ve seen as a sign that there’s nothing good on. You lie back, your fresh clothes next to you as a makeshift pillow, thinking about life.

It’s been a year since you made that deal with Jacques. A year since you and Weiss fell out of favor with each other. She’s in Beacon now, and you aren’t. She’s happy (more or less), but you’re just… drifting, you guess.

No direction, no future, except as a servant to the Schnee heiress. As you start reminiscing about life, and how the intervening months went along, one question enters your mind:

Was it worth it?

The bathroom door suddenly opens, and out comes Weiss wearing a white chemise, her white hair still wet from the shower water.

“The shower’s ready,” she says. “Sorry I went in first, I just needed to clean myself.”

“It’s no problem, Miss Schnee,” you say. “We’ll get our own showers once the dorms at Beacon are open.”

“You won’t be staying at the dorms, though,” she points out. “You’ll be staying in the employee dormitories.”

“Ah, it’s nothing. At least it’s not the Schnee home.”

Weiss frowned. “My home’s not that bad.”

“Yeah, but your _dad_ lives there. I think I gotta knock some points off for that alone.”

“Yes,” Weiss says, her frown slowly turning into a smile. “I guess we can agree on that.”

That was the first time you made her smile in a year. You return that smile with one of yours.

Totally worth it.


	7. The Office, Part 1

It was a week later when Weiss Schnee officially entered Beacon Academy. The both of you were standing near a statue along the entrance pathway, along with the other students and their parents.

"Okay," you begin, reading off a list. "So… bag?"

"Check."

"Pens?"

"Check."

"Two notebooks?"

"A red one and a blue one."

"Check."

"And your laptop."

"Check."

"Good," you fold up the list and put it in your pocket. "Have your scroll?"

"Yes, I have my scroll," Weiss replies. "I'm not exactly entering a preschool, you know."

"I know," you say. "It's just… my little girl's all grown up!" you continue, feigning tears.

"Yes, _dad_ ," she says sarcastically. "Can I go now?"

"Yes," you reply. "Remember, I'll be helping out the staff as my rent. If you need me," you gesture to her scroll, "call me. Now go, you'll be late, Miss Schnee."

Weiss bows to you as she walks towards the entrance with the other students. Meanwhile, you start to head towards the staff room to get your current assignments. You check the map you've been given with, and you start to jog.

You don't want to be late for the first day of work, after all.

* * *

It was a full half-an hour later when you finally found the staff room. Beacon Academy was _big_ ; the Schnee family home might as well be your childhood home compared to Beacon.

It even has its own forest _._ An entire _forest_. With cliffs! For what purpose?!

Ranting aside, you knock at the door in front of you and open it, going inside.

"Uh, sir?" you ask the man behind the desk in the back. "I'm looking for Professor Ozpin?"

"Ah yes," the man says. "You must be the new hire."

"Technically I'm already hired sir," you reply. "I'm just paying the rent."

"I see that Jacques has rubbed off on you," the professor says. You brush off that comparison, you need to put out a good first impression. "Please, sit," he continues.

You close the door behind you and enter the room. The room itself was fairly large, with a large glass window behind the desk. On the desk was a computer, a printer, and a half-filled coffee mug on a heavily stained saucer.

Otherwise, the room itself was quite bare, with a couple of large sculptures on the large amount of floor space, a coffee machine near the table, and a globe in the corner.

"Now," Ozpin started to speak. "Before we begin, let me just say: Welcome to Beacon Academy."

"Thank you, sir," you reply. "It's a… pretty big school. Nearly got lost on the way here."

"Haha," he laughs. "I assure you, it's a lot bigger than you think it is."

You shudder at the thought. "Please tell me you're kidding."

"Now, now," he says, "there's time for you to figure out if I'm lying or not on the job."

"Yes, sir," you nod.

"Now, I'm sure I'm keeping you from your duties," Ozpin continued. He typed in a few commands in the computer and printed out a sheet. "Here is your schedule," he says, handing you the paper, then he opens a drawer and hands you a lanyard and ID. "And your identification card. This lets you go around employee areas and open employee-only doors," he continues. "I suggest you keep the card safe, as it costs 100 lien and a week's waiting period for a new one, and a copy of your schedule has also been forwarded to your scroll," he finishes

You look at the schedule: Monday's task is to clean the gym building's court area. Easy enough; while you've already seen the building from the map, it's still a finite area.

"Thank you sir," you say as you stand up from the chair. You extend a hand to shake, which Ozpin graciously returns. "I promise sir, I won't let you down."

"See to it you don't," he says as sips from the mug of coffee. "Though I do not doubt in your abilities. You _have_ served the Schnee family after all." You go and reach the door before you remember.

"Excuse me, sir?" you ask.

"Hm?"

"What's the forest for?"

"It came with the land."

"So it's just… there."

"It's just there, yes. Sometimes the biology classes head there to study the local wildlife."

You have the feeling that it's not just there taking up space. In either case, you take your leave and head for the gym. "Enjoy your coffee, sir."

"It's actually hot chocolate, young man." he corrects. "And I will."

* * *

It took you a little over 3 hours to clean the court area. It may be a finite area, but it was a big finite area. The gym was an all-purpose one, with lines drawn for both volleyball and basketball. Two standard hoops were installed, one on each side, as well as a volleyball net stands, currently to the side.

There were also a couple of vending machines for drinks on the side, as well as chalkboards, safety padding, and other equipment you'd find in a school gym. Pretty standard stuff.

Checking on your schedule, it seems that you have an hour's break before you have to mop the main building's first floor. You drop a few lien in a vending machine for a Dr. Piper, place the mop and bucket next to you, and sit on the bleachers for a well-deserved br—

"Alright students, inside, NOW!"

The gym doors burst open, and at least 25 students entered courtside, followed by a somewhat round man with a mustache. You identify him as Peter Port, author extraordinaire, and currently the guy who's dirtying your work of 3 hours.

Well, on the bright side, if everything was clean all the time, you'd be out of a job.

"Okay, okay, let's all settle down," the Professor shouted over the students' murmuring. He brought out a chalkboard from the side. "My name , if you haven't known already, is Professor Peter Port. If you're wondering why the biology professor is also the PE teacher, well, I'm just that damn good, ha ha ha!"

How humble, you though. Then again, the Johnny Arbiter books were well-known for their exaggerated views on reality. Still, the snowmobile cliff jump was a badass scene, even more so in the Johnny Arbiter: Modern Warfare movie.

"Now, as you know, as a veteran of the Great War, me and physical fitness have a very close relationship," he continues. "Why, I remember back in training camp, me and a fellow private broke the team obstacle course record! It was more than thirty years ago back when I was a sprite young ma—"

You check your watch. An hour already? You take your cleaning supplies and leave for the cafeteria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty short; didn't want to squeeze the entirety of Beacon into one chapter


	8. The Office, Part 2

It took you half an hour to get to the cafeteria. The cafeteria building was large, which you were quickly learning was the average size of the buildings of the Academy.

Four tables that ran the length of the building stood next to each other, with their surfaces occasionally punctuated by food, followed by a student sitting on a chair next to it, repeat until table ends. There weren’t a lot of students, due to the lunch period just ending.

There were a couple of holdouts, of course. There were a group of second years lounging around, a third year couple making out, and…

Weiss?

You see Weiss, along with three other girls, most likely her roommates. You recheck her schedule on your scroll. It says she should be in Basic Statistics with Professor Peach. Either she’s skipping, or more likely, the professor didn’t show up. Shrugging, you place your bucket down and start mopping the footprints off the tiles.

You overhear their conversation as you clean. You keep a low profile: she’ll call you when she needs you.

* * *

 

“I am still surprised Miss Peach didn’t show up,” Weiss said to a girl with blonde hair. “You’d think that would be on the top of her list of priorities.”

“So?” the blonde haired girl replied. “It’s a free period. The means even more lunch!”

“Do you not _care_ for your education, Xiao Long?”

“I have a name, Weiss-cream,” Xiao Long replied with a smirk. “It’s Yang, and don’t you forget it.”

“Seeing as we shall live together for the next four years,” Weiss replied, “I won’t.”

“Weiss, Yang…,” a smaller girl pleaded with the two of them. “Let’s not fight.”

“Ruby, please,” Yang dismissively said. “I’m just stating my opinion.”

“Ugh,” Weiss sighed out loud. “Blake, what do you have to say about this?”

“I don’t really care either way,” a black haired girl replied, rather dismissively.

Funny, she sounds familiar.

“I cannot believe you two,” Weiss said. She whipped out her scroll and typed out a few sentences before putting it back in her blazer pocket.

* * *

 

Suddenly, your own scroll buzzed. Opening it, you see a message from Weiss to you:

_Meet me ASAP._

How convenient. Also coincidental

“Miss Schnee!”, you shout. “What do you need?”

“Oooh,” Yang said as you approached them. “Who’s this fox of a man?”

“I’m Miss Schnee’s servant,” you reply. “I’m currently here as both attendant to Miss Schnee and as a janitor for this Academy.”

“Polite too,” Yang says. She turns towards Weiss. “You’ve got a nice boyf-“

“Stop,” Weiss said. “Just… stop.”

“Anyway,” you interrupt before things arguably get worse. “What you need, Miss Schnee?”

“Four drinks.”

“Right away, ma’am,” you say. You drop the cleaning supplies and immediately went to the school kitchen. Quickly, you grabbed four canned drinks, running back to the waiting ladies.

“Miss Schnee, ladies,” you say as you hand out the drinks.

“Thank you,” Weiss said. “You’re excused.”

“I’ll be returning to my duties, miss.”

She nods. You pick back the supplies and continue with your cleaning, away from the four. While you try to focus on your work, you find yourself sneaking a glance back at the heiress.

You could’ve sworn she was looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit short, but I blame college finals.


End file.
